


Still The Storm To A Whisper

by ThrowMeAStory



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Astraphobia, Backstory, Book 2, Bridgerton Family Feels, Bridgertons Being Bridgertons, Canon - Book, Childhood Memories, Dorks in Love, During Canon, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Memories, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Newton - Freeform, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Past, Season/Series 02, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Reflection, Sister-Sister Relationship, Storms, fear of storms, pov Kate, self comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrowMeAStory/pseuds/ThrowMeAStory
Summary: Kate's prayers of a storm are answered.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma, Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	Still The Storm To A Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hi! This is set between chapter 20 and 21 of The Viscount Who Loved me, which is my favourite book and Kate and Anthony are my favourite couple.I need more Jonathan Bailey and Rege-Jean Page in my life, just in general. Enjoy!!!

"When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person that walked in. That's what the storm is all about." - Haruki Murakami

14th June 1814

Closing the drapes tightly, I aimlessly begin to pace the room as the rain had already started to beat heavily against the window pane. Although it was pouring outside, the summer heat could not be extinguished, as the room was almost suffocating. I was sure that there was a storm coming and even with the knowledge I had learnt today, the temperature was not going to make the probable coming experience any easier. A whining sound forces me to stop pacing the floor and I make my way to door to open it for my only companion of the evening.

Newton trotts and flops downs on the chaise lounge by the window. Shutting the door I stride over to the bedside cabinet, pull out a box of matches and reach for the single, albeit used candle on my husband's side. Walking over to my corgi, I gently pick up him and the single blanket that was thrown over the back of the seat and place them both on the bed. I light the single candle and place it on my side before blowing out the candelabra and sitting in the middle of the bed.

The thunder echoed throughout the room and my body automatically jolted forward. I try to let my thoughts wonder to something pleasant and although I knew that didn't always work, I had a reason to back up my fear now that I didn't have before. I no longer have to wonder why I felt like this. Maybe things that I tried to use to calm myself in the past might have some effect in the present.

A bright light illuminates the room as the familiar fear swims around in my stomach. My first instinct is to get up and find somewhere to hide until the storm passed but I sit still, not wanting to lie down just yet. Newton presses his plump but firm body against of my legs as he gets comfy and falls asleep, the rain and thunder not bothering him in the slightest. Lifting the blanket up I press it against my face, pushing my palms to my eyes.

My first thought of comfort was of my little village in Somerset. Our small but cosy home that always smelt like firewood and flowers. The carts that lined the market and the stone path that led down to the beach. Friends that I saw almost every day and the old couple that had lived in the next house down from us, who had resided there for as long as I could remember.

One of the best places in the town was the bakers, who sold a apricot ratafia-cake that I was sure I would never forget the taste of until I died. Our cousins would play cricket with us on the sand or we'd walk for hours in the surrounding countryside before ending up outside the bakers, just before they closed, hoping they had some slices left. The second best was Edwina's favourite bookshop that was just near the church, where father was buried, they always had the best volumes on mythology and art. She would spend hours pondering over them before actually picking one for purchase. 

My little sister had always been my dearest friend and my most beloved companion,including Newton. From the day she could walk she had been my little shadow, making me feel like I was first in her affections. While we where grieving father she always put mother's needs before her own, displaying that her beauty was not only external. I could only hope that Mr Bagwell knew this and intended to nurture it.

Growing up I had always been the quiet and practical sibling, watching and taking note while she had been the one to blossom under kindness. Edwina had the talent of being able to converse with anyone and make them feel special. My best memories however were of quiet nights of us, Mary and father in our parlour, just playing cards or simply sitting in a comfortable silence. Sometimes in the summer father used to take us for a walk on the beach just before bed.

I had strangely not given that much thought to my birth mother. I mean I have wondered what she looked like and her personality but not how she would have acted towards me. I wasn't missing out on any experience that I could only have with her. I had a mother that never treated as if I wasn't her child.

Though Mary had not been the one to give birth to me, she was the one who held me while I cried and when the storms scared me out of my wits. She was the one who educated me and scolded me. She was the one to bathe me and brush my hair. She was the one to care for me.

She was my mother.

Mother and father had always set the precedent for how marriage should be. When we were small, she and father told us about how they met. I did not yet understand but still wanted that to happen to me, love at first sight or just love in general. But the older I got the more I realised that might not be on the cards for me.

Then we had come to London.

Then I had met him.

God, I had disliked him on sight. Anthony Bridgerton was the single most arrogant man I had ever met. With his stupid floppy hair and his ridiculously deep eyes. His confidence that he would be the one to marry my sister made my whole body burn with anger.

The night in his office was, at the time, one of the most frustrating nights of my life thus far. After he caught me under his desk and sent away his dangerously beautiful opera singer, he had kissed me. Then he tried to embarrass me, all while stating he still wanted to court Edwina. I was so... confused.

When I stepped for the carriage on to the gravel outside Aubrey Hall, I would never have thought the the next time I got back into said carriage I would be engaged to him.

The apology in the garden and the Pall Mall match had been the start of the turning point in regard to my opinion of him. Him saving Penelope from Cressida Cowper, then watching him interact with his siblings and mother had been the half way point in it changing fully. Then he had found me in the library, cowering under a table and he had comforted me instead of mocking me. That had changed my opinion fully, he would have looked after my sister once she was his wife and my mother and maybe even me if she couldn't have had me married off by the end of the season.

And he had looked after us all, just the way father would have hoped. My father had been a clever man, the most amazing papa and an extremely loving husband. I had missed him every day since he died but none more than my wedding day. I would have given mostly anything to have him walk me down the aisle.

He would definitely not have approved of Viscount Bridgerton marrying either of his daughters at first. No matter of his title or fortune. If he had caught us in the position we were found in in that garden he would have demanded a duel instead of a marriage. Now however, I believe he would have approved wholeheartedly of Anthony. 

Right now though, I was fuming at my husband. We had traded some harsh barbs during our 'courtship' but the most cruel one hadn't even registered at the time. When he had come to me a couple of days before our wedding with his terms it had only stung a little but now it full on stabbed at my heart. It only gave form to my fears of being second best.

There would be no romantic love in our marriage.

I had seen it everyday of my childhood and he had told me how in love his parents had been. So why had he treated me like he had, if he didn't feel any sort of romantic love for me? Had he been in love before and had his heart broken, or was he just as clueless as I was when it came to these feelings? Why had he panicked earlier and run away?

My current surrounding slowly come back to me as I uncover my eyes and let them adjust, blinking the black spots from my vision. The thunder and lightening seems to have passed and the sound of the rain was softer. Newton had moved back to the chaise lounge and was soundly asleep. Everything looked the same as before my memory had gone on it's little trip.

I lean over to blow out the candle and cover myself with the bed sheets, then laying back, I let the sound of rain wash over me. There would be time for me to think more about my birth mother and her horrible demise, more time to rejoice in my tiny victory of beating tonight's storm. However right now I just want to sleep. I want dream of love until the bright sun greeted me when my eyes opened again.

"The rain is speaking quietly, you can sleep now."- unknown


End file.
